AT EVENING TIME 

LlVIAiONE- YOUNG 




Class ^S..2xi±i:[ 

Copfyriglit]^»__4^a:X 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



At Evening Time 



By 

Livia lone Young 




THE GRAFTON PRESS 

PUBLISHERS NEW YORK 



LIBRARY of C0W3nE3S.? 
Two Copies hwiti 

DEC 26 i907 



76 3 5-^1 



Copyright, 1907, 
By The Grafton Press 



SK 

^ 



V9 



To 

My Friends 
Many of whom now sleep among the New England hills 

New York City, August 31, IQ07 



Contents 

PAGE 

At Evening Time 7 

Dreamland 8 

A Sea-Song 9 

November 10 

Happiness 11 

Asleep 11 

Old Norwich Town 12 

Throughout the Night 13 

Retrospection 14 

Homeward 15 

Autumn Leaves 16 

Life 17 

Questionings 18 

March 19 

The Water-Lily 20 

A Wildwood Lover 21 

The Snowstorm 22 

The Nun 23 

The Old Schoolhouse 24 

Evensong 25 

Highland Light 26 

Along Shore 27 



PAGE 

Memories ^^ 

The Children of Light 29 

The Wild Rose 30 

My Dreams 3i 

A Little While 32 



At Evening Time 

SOFTLY o'er the landscape 
At evening time ; 
Fall the darksome shadows 

At evening time; 
As an Angel kneeling, 
Perfect peace revealing, 
Glimpses sweet of homeland stealing, 
At evening time; 

Dimly blue the mountains. 

At evening time; 
Fainter grow the outlines 

At evening time; 
As bells distant pealing, 
Touch our souls with healing, 
Calling forth the heart's best feeling, 

At evening time. 



[7] 



Dreamland 

INTO that dreamy land where I live 
Cares cannot come; 
They vanish like rays of fading light, 
When day is done. 

In all dread Passion's dark, seething strife, 

I have no share; 
Even Ambition's fierce, scorching flame 

Has no place there. 

Into that shadowy world of thought 

And mysteries, 
Peaceful songs of the soul mount higher 

In harmonies. 



Borne on the wings of my dreamy thoughts 

Musings arise, 
Calm and as sweet as the dawn of day — 

Soul's paradise. 



[8] 



A Sea-Song 

AWAY! Away! Away! 
Over the wide, bare sea; 
Far-off waves are calling, calling, 
Fringed with foam are falling, falling, 
Shadowed in mystery. 

Away ! Away ! Away ! 

Sunlit and fair the day; 
Distant sails are flitting, flitting, 
Lonely isles are sitting, sitting, 

Lovely in sea-mists gray. 

Away ! Away ! Away ! 

Breezes are fresh and strong; 
Yonder lights are beaming, beaming. 
Golden rays are streaming, streaming. 

Lighting the way along. 

Away ! Away ! Away ! 

Billows are flecked with white; 
On and onward speeding, speeding, 
Through the waters leading, leading, 

Homeward beyond the light. 



[9] 



November 

THE fields are thickly strewn with leaves, 
Dead leaves — a faded diadem — 
And through the naked branches grieves 
And breathes the wind's sad requiem. 

No more the light along the hills 

Of sunset hues — rare crowns of bloom — 

Gaunt trees with solemn visage fills 

The world around with mournful gloom. 

The squirrels whisk through sunken walls — 
From tree to tree, their stores to hide; 

Again, a straying walnut falls 

Amid the thickets, stained and dyed. 

The ocean beats upon the shore 

With ceaseless dull and hollow thud, 

And clouds that shall return no more 
Across the somber landscape scud. 



[10] 



Happiness 

THE poet writes In simple lines, 
Of happiness the home heart finds; 
" Stay, stay at home, my heart, and rest, 
Home-staying hearts are happiest." 

Oh! hearts that wander far away, 

And from your homes are prone to stray, 

In search of peace, to seek for rest, 
To stay at home is happiest. 

For peace and joy no heart need stray 
To lands where clearer waters play; 

The peace of life each heart may win, 
For happiness it is within. 



Asleep 

ASLEEP! Aye, fast asleep! 
Morning light cannot wake them, 
Nor yet can the stormy blast, 
Where wintry flakes drift in snowy cover. 
Under yellow leaves and purple clover, 
They are sleeping at last. 

[H] 



Old Norwich Town 

THE Rose of New England! 
Thou hast been rightly named, 
For since among the quaint historic towns that crown 
The wild New England hills — for native beauty 
famed — 
Thou art the fairest found, 
Thou stately Norwich Town. 

The Rose of New England! 

Here many waters meet, 
From further hills, and far oflE tangled woodland leas, 

The rivers onward glide to mingle at thy feet — 
With gathered force to pour 

Their tribute to the seas. 

The Rose of New England! 

Thy winding streets and hills; 
Thy towers and turrets rise like feudal castles old; 

Thy giant trees whose interlacing branches fills 
In autumn time the fields, 

With clouds of burnished gold. 

The Rose of New England! 

I love to think of thee; 
Thy name the cares of busy life and sorrows drown. 
Brings back the long, long days, and childish fancies 
free. 
And with a long farewell 
To thee, old Norwich Town. 
[12] 



Throughout the Night 

THROUGHOUT the clear night, the marvelous 
night, 
The luminous heavens with stars are bright. 
And sweetest perfume on w^inds softly blow. 
Like memories dreamy of long ago. 

Throughout the long night, the mystical night, 
The day flowers slumber in fading light; 

The lilies of peace, with petals of snow, 
That bloomed in the gardens of long ago. 

Throughout the dim night, the shadowy night, 
Come echoing voices, long passed from sight, 

And speak once again — now sadly and low — 
From deepening slumber of long ago. 

Throughout the still night, the wonderful night. 
The heavenly choirs sing from distant height, 

The magical music we used to know 
In the folded shadows of long, long ago. 



[13] 



Retrospection 

WHERE is the promise of our youth, 
Once written on our brow, 
What have the fleeting seasons brought, 
To claim that promise now? 

I own that some have gathered home 
The sheaves and ripened grain ; 

While some have toiled in barren fields, 
To reap but tears and pain. 

There are who hold the cunning hand 

Of destiny and fate 
Hath shaped each wayw^ard, misspent life, 

Hath ruled the wise and great. 

I know not why the goal is missed 

That stills the restless brain ; 
That bids earth's weary tumult cease, 

And breaks the sleep of pain. 

But who shall solve life's mysterj^ 

To those within the door; 
Redeem the promise of the years, — 

A shadow evermore. 



[14] 



Homeward 

(Old-Home Week, Norwich, Connecticut, July i, 1903) 

HOMEWARD the wanderers turn their steps 
To yonder New England hills; 
Haunts of fair childhood's unclouded days, 

Whose memory ever stills; 
Fragrant in fulness of flowerage, 

They welcome back home to-day, 
Straying and reverent footsteps 
That have wandered so far away. 

Homeward the swift flying sea birds speed 

Aloft in their dizzy height; 
Instinct unerringly shapes their course 

In the heart of the lonely night ; 
Homeward bound travelers on distant seas 

'Midst emerald streaked foam, 
Tenderly turn at the twilight hour, 

To shadov^ dreams of home. 

Homeward the wanderers turn their steps. 

As children when night has come; 
Wearied with baubles and playthings long 

To rest and be safe at home; 
Sheltered amid the green hills of home, 

A while at their feet to rest ; 
Touched with the light of the olden time — 

The Haven of Home is best. 
[15] 



Autumn Leaves 

NOW, a hush is in the air, 
Now, the fields are brown and bare; 
Lightly float upon the breeze 
Leaves from flaming forest trees, 

When Autumn days are here. 

Mountain streams with scarlet lined; 

Barren rocks with garlands twined; 
Purple, topaz, brown and red 

Are with matchless grace o'erspread, 
When Autumn days are here. 

Uplands, glens with color dyed, 
Crowned in splendor — glorified; 

Far away the wooded heights 

Shine and gleam like starlit nights, 

While Autumn days are here. 

Yonder sumac's blazing torch 

Burns like fire — a touch might scorch — 
'Neath the stones, — by wayside line, — 

Peeps the winsome, crimson vine, 
Now Autumn days are here. 

Where the lowly mosses hide. 

Mounds of leaves drift, side by side; 

While soft breezes from the west 
Scarce disturb their dreamy rest. 
For Autumn days are here. 

[16] 



Autumn's touch the world hath given 
Rainbow tints like those of Heaven; 

Countless shades of beauty glow 
On the hillsides, high and low, 

When Autumn days are here. 

Can it be that this is death. 
This is Summer's dying breath, 

Wearing radiant smiles of bliss, 
Flaunting gay farewells like this. 

While Autumn days are here? 



Life 

A FRAGILE floweret blossomed 
In forests dim and deep ; 
The night winds hushed this stainless flower, 
And then it fell asleep. 

A fragile floweret blossomed 

Beneath the noonday glare; 
And one there came who crushed its heart, 
And left it dying there. 



[17] 



Questionings 

WHERE did you get your starry bloom, 
You fields with color dyed; 
Where did you get your radiant light, 
All touched and glorified? 

And you, you yellow buttercups, 

You saucy little things; 
Where did you get your dewy cups, 

Where golden incense swings? 

And you, you dogwood, dreamy-eyed, 
With clouds of whitened sprays ; 

Where did you get your snowy flakes. 
To drift the woodland ways? 

And you, you tiny violets. 

Whose fragrance never dies; 
Where did you get your eyes so blue, — 

From heaven's cloudless skies? 

And you, you tangled clover heads, 

Like evening's purple haze; 
Where did you get your royal hue — 

From dying sunset's rays? 

[18] 



And you, you daisies, far afield, 
Tell me in whispers low, 

Where did you get your hearts of gold- 
Do you the secret know? 

And you, you dainty arbutus, 
By March winds coldly driven. 

Where did you get your rosy blush, 
Like a faint hope of Heaven? 



March 

COMETH March, with changing weathers, 
Tossing trees about as feathers. 
Wildly shrieks the wind and rain; 
Pipes it now and whistles shrilly. 
Rushes down where lands are hilly. 
Sweeps across the level plain. 

Breaketh forth the sunshine brightly. 
Blithely sing the song-birds lightly, 

Openeth the bursting bud ; 
In the meadows flowers are springing. 
Joyously sweet incense bringing. 

Nature's face with beauty stud. 



[19] 



The Water-Lily 

SLEEP, thou water-lily, 
Upon the quiet lake; 
Sleep, in peaceful slumber, 
Until the morn doth break. 

From the depths of darkness 
Thou came to meet the light; 

Spotless, pure and fragrant 
From somber realms of night. 

Free from earth's defilement 

Perfect is thy retreat, 
Filling silent forests 

With perfume rare and sweet. 

From thy first-born freshness 
Until thy petals close. 

Thou are emblematic 
Of a Divine repose. 



[20] 



A Wildwood Lover 

ARE you a lover of moor and fen, 
. Of uplands, fields and the purpling glen. 
Where trees with foliage downward bent, 
Throw shadows deep when the day is spent; 

And streams play wild down the mountain side. 
Till lost in ocean's resistless tide; 
And low winds whisper throughout the trees, 
Like haunting prayers on the evening breeze? 

Now, upward, whirring the sound of wings, 
From leafy cover there trills and rings 
The wild birds' song, with shrill rise and fall. 
Whose sweetest note is the homeward call. 

Along the pool's sunken, mossy side, 
Amid sweet-flag rushes, tall and wide, 
The insects murmur and hum with glee, 
Low, crooning songs of the wildwood free. 

Are you a lover of moor and fen, 
Far, far away from the haunts of men? 
Come, then, with me, I will take your hand, 
And lead you home to that quiet land. 



[21] 



The Snowstorm 

THOUSANDS of crystal snowflakes 
Endlessly to and fro, 
Hither and thither circling, 
Feathery cloudlands grow. 

Falling like homeless wanderers, 

Driven from steep to steep, 
Finding at last a refuge — 

In the great world to sleep. 

Softly o'er frozen marshes, 

Heaps the white, drifting snow; 

Softly o'er wilder forests. 
Bending the branches low. 

Hiding the far-off hilltops. 
Folding them still and close; 

Lending a hallowed glory 
To their perfect repose. 

Wreathing in wondrous beauty, 
Meadows and mountain streams; 

Changing the somber landscape, 
Into a land of dreams. 

Gleaming through evening shadows, 

O! thou pure, silent snow. 
Resting with holy luster — 

Dreamlike, on all below. 

[22] 



The Nun 

" Who is the greater, the wise man who lifts himself above 
the storms of time, and from aloof looks down upon them, 
and yet takes no part therein, — or he who, from the heights 
of quiet and repose, throws himself bodily into the battle- 
tumult of the world ? " — Outre-Mer. 



A 



PART from the world, O thou Pilgrim of Heaven, 
Art nearer the Fountain where Mercy is given? 

Thou takest with thee neither silver nor gold, 
But, tell me, art thou any nearer the fold? 

The burdens of life, thou hast laid them all down, 
And thinkest of only the cross and the crown. 

The pleasures of earth, as they come and they go, 
Are shadows to thee, in thy garments of woe. 

No home hast thou here, but thou lookest above 
To Heavenly Mansions prepared by His love. 

A question I ask thee, art thou nearer Heaven 
Than thy fellow travelers all footsore and driven 

By tempests and toils, and the depths of despair. 
And wearisome battles that earth's pilgrims share? 

Wilt rest be more quiet, more dreamless, more sweet, 
Than to those who ne'er knelt at His crucified feet? 

I ask thee again, with all kindness and love. 
For I am thy neighbor, thy Judge is above. 
[23] 



The Old Schoolhouse 

(Long Society, Norwich, Connecticut.) 

THE old schoolhouse, as in the days of yore, 
Still stands within the country ways; 
Beyond, where patches dark of woodland spread 

The wandering rivulet strays, 
And rolling pastures stretch far, far away. 
To meet the sunset's rays. 

The district school; where came for miles around, 
In summer's heat — in winter's storms — 

The boys and girls; clear-eyed, red-lipped and tanned, 
Whose ruddy cheeks the rich blood warms; — 

With pail and basket, strapped with book and slate — 
No fashion knew these childish forms. 

How many tales those scarred desks might relate! 

What triumphs books and slates possess! 
The spelling match, the games of hide and seek! 

The feats at noontime and recess! 
On yonder hills, the farmers' varied store. 

To which was stormed access. 

Across the fields, where moaning pine-trees spread 

Their needles o'er each sunken bed. 
The teacher sleeps. Sleep softly; years have fled 

Since thou our childish studies led; 
The purple clover heaps Its tangled flowers 

Above thy honored head. 

Oh ! little schoolhouse, many years have passed 

Since thy first lessons left behind. 
When on " last day " from wisdom's lips received 

Admonitions and wishes kind. 
We turned to seek new worlds — in fairer climes — 

And life's stern lessons find. 
[24] 



Evensong 

NOW softly rings the evening chime 
At evenfall — the vesper time — 
Now far — now near — on wand 'ring breeze, 
Like strains of wind-swept forest trees. 

They toll the hymns of parting day, 

And sweetly chant in holy lay, 
Like voices from fair, unseen lands, 

Or harp strings touched by tender hands. 

The night comes down ! The daylight's past ! 

And evening time is falling fast — 
List! o'er the earth a silence dwells, 

As tuneful peal the evening bells. 



[25] 



Highland Light 

(Cape Cod, Massachusetts.) 

ACROSS the dusky sea, at close of day, 
. The lonely ship thou guidest on its way 
Through all the night; 
Thou leadest home the wayward seaman frail, 
Through storm or calm, where foaming waters trail 
To morning light. 

No night of fear can dim thy fiery eye. 
Alone thou knowest where stern dangers lie 

Along the way; 
And when the morn breaks o'er the weary sea, 
Thy tower of white will still a guidance be, 

From day to day. 

Above Cape Cod's sandy, trackless shore, 
Above the surging tide of ocean's roar, 

The Highland Light, 
For many years, through changing night and day, 
The wanderer has guided on his way. 

Beyond the night. 



[26] 



Along Shore 

THE drooping sea-weed floated with the tide 
Upon the broken shore; 
The torn and tattered fragments of sea-dreams, 
Like days that are no more. 

The narrow ridge of beach stretched miles away 
Where sharp rocks leaned to sea; 

And dark-browed forests crept along the shore, 
In depths of mystery. 

The beach-grass leaning with the fitful breeze 

In hazy patches strays; 
And wild marsh-mallow^s tinted blossoms peep 

Along the sandy ways. 

Frail, drooping sea-weed, on the ebb and flow. 

Of changing ocean's tide; 
The restless sea may bear thee safely home. 

Or drift the ocean wide. 



[27] 



Memories 

MY thoughts will ever wander far away 
To my New England home; 
And from that Northern land, of early days, 
Enchanting visions come. 

I know not why it is, but day and night 

Sweet voices call me home; 
The scene is still the same as in the days 

Before I learned to roam. 

They tell me of the lilac-scented bowers, 

And fields with laurel grown; 
They tell me of the fragile, wayside flowers 

That live and die unknown. 

They tell me of the wayside flowers that bloom 

Without frail mortal care; 
And bring to me their vagrant, sweet perfume 

Like an immortal prayer. 

And list, I hear, from out the dreamy past. 

Hushed voices call to me 
Of those who long ago have turned aside 

To rest beyond the sea. 

Though far afield my weary feet have strayed, 

And in the wilderness, 
The cry is still the same, " Come home " ; " Come 
home " ; 
As of a soft caress. 

[28] 



And still they call; these low, sweet, pleading tones 

O'er land and over sea, 
Throughout the drifting mist of fleeting j^ears 

Have ever called to me. 

Sometimes the cares of busy day wnll drive 

These plaintive tones away; 
But in my dreams I seem to hear again — 

As though of yesterday. 



The Children of Light 

THERE are who carr\^ in their heart, 
Through country ways and crowded mart; 
Who walk amid unceasing strife, 
And restless tide of human life; 
The harmonies of continuous chime, 
Of thoughts serene and melodies sublime. 
Go forth to toil with greater zest, — 
Their souls have learned the secret source of rest. 



[29] 



The Wild Rose 

ALONG the dusty highway, 
^ Where thorns and thickets strew 
Their leaves In sweet confusion, 
A blushing wild-rose grew. 

O'er stones and stubble wandered, 

Across the sunken wall, 
With face to light uplifted, 

Until the evenfall. 

The air with fragrance filling. 

Nor asking yea or nay, 
If darkening shadows linger. 

And dim the perfect day. 

No human hand hath tended 
This fragile, wayside flower. 

Nor watched Its life unfolding 
Beneath the sun and shower. 

So lived this dainty wUd-rose 

Its frail but perfect life. 
Apart from world's contention, 

Apart from care and strife. 

And wayfarers — ^w^eary travelers 

Along that dusty road. 
Are by the humble wild-rose cheered, 

Though lowly its abode. 

[so] 



My Dreams 

REMORSELESS Time, 
, Take not from me my dreams, 
As down the lengthening chain of years, 
The mystic twilight gleams. 

Take not from me 

That wild, sweet source of rest, 
That soothes the sharp, relentless thrusts of Fate, 

And bids me toil with zest. 

And when, stern Time, 

Thou callest me to part. 
With those dear souls whose love has been my life, 

Strong let me be at heart. 

Whate'er may come. 

While still the daylight streams, 
Or when the shadowy evening steals, 

Take not from me my dreams. 



[31] 



A Little While 

IT may be days, or weeks, or months, 
Or, perchance, shadowed years; 
A little while to learn life's secret ways — 
To still life's doubts and fears. 

A little while, and this frail life 

Will vanish as a sigh; 
Like morning mist, or fragrance of the flowers, 

Or blush of evening's sky. 

A little while to think, to act — 

And life's short day is past; 
A little while to kind and patient be — 

The days are flying fast. 

A very little while to stray. 

Ere light fades in the west ; 
A little while! O! such a little while, 

And then — to be at rest. 



[32] 



oEC 36 my 



